


A Beautiful Life

by Magnolia822



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, M/M, Magic, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-14
Updated: 2012-08-14
Packaged: 2017-11-12 03:56:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnolia822/pseuds/Magnolia822
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Gwaine is diagnosed with terminal cancer, his friends rallly round to support him. The gang takes a trip to the seashore to say their goodbyes, and Merlin and Arthur are finally forced to confront their feelings for each other—with a little help from a friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Beautiful Life

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Thanks to otta_ff for the beta and to 40_miles for the britpick!  
> Disclaimer: I own none of the Merlin things, unfortunately.

  
They’re all out on the lash halfway to pissed when Gwaine clears his throat, sets down his pint, and tells them, “So, lads. Looks like I’m fucked.”  
  
“What do you mean, fucked by who, you tosser?” Elyan asks, laughing. A chorus rises up around the table, much the same—Percy, Lance, and Leon adding in their equally bad puns and jests. Only Arthur remains quiet, Merlin notices, his stomach lurching when he realises the repercussions of the silence. It must be something bad.  
  
“Nah, I’m not having you on. Got my results from the doc today.”  
  
From across the table, Merlin can see Arthur’s face pale; his knuckles whiten as he grips the table. It’s not common knowledge in their group that Arthur and Gwaine have been shagging off and on for the past year, but Merlin knows. As Arthur’s flatmate, he’s had several middle-of-the-night encounters with Gwaine in the hall, either coming or going from Arthur’s room. It didn’t exactly take a genius to figure out what was going on. At first the development had been devastating, but Merlin’s learned to accept it. He’s never directly asked Arthur how serious they are, though, because honestly he’d rather not hear the details.  
  
The laughter around them fades, and Percy asks, “What are you saying, mate?”  
  
“So you know the headaches I’ve had, yeah? Blurry vision and all that. I’ve got a brain tumour.”  
  
“A tumour?” Elyan’s eyes go wide.  
  
“Fuck me.”  
  
“Bloody hell.”  
  
“Shit, mate.” Percy says. Lance, and Leon are equally stunned, but it’s Arthur that Merlin’s gaze is drawn to. Arthur doesn’t meet his eyes, though. He stares at the table, running a finger over a defect in the grain.  
  
Merlin finally finds his voice to ask the question they’re all dreading the answer to. “What’s the prognosis?”  
  
Gwaine looks at Arthur, then over at him, a sad smile on his face. “They say there’s nothing they can do.”  
  
All around them, people are drinking, talking, laughing. The music in the pub is loud, old Led Zeppelin telling Mama _I’m gonna make you sweat, I’m gonna make you groove._ Merlin feels hollow, like somehow this is his fault, like his jealousy has caused the cancer.  
  
“Shit.”  
  
“No fucking way.”  
  
“There must be something—”  
  
When Arthur finally lifts his head and meets Merlin’s eyes, there’s a plea in his expression. But he can’t, he can’t do it . . . his magic can’t cure disease like that, can’t bring people back from the dead. He’d tried it with his own father and the repercussions had been severe—had almost killed Merlin himself. And it hadn’t worked.  
  
“You can’t do any of, you know?” Gwaine wiggles his fingers in Merlin’s direction, giving him a cheeky grin. Merlin flushes, knowing Gwaine means his magic, but his heart is heavy as a stone.  
  
“Yeah, Merls, is there any way . . .” Percy trails off.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Merlin says, both to Gwaine and Arthur and the table, shaking his head. “I wish I could, but I can’t. It doesn’t work that way.” He feels like a failure. What good is his magic if it can’t save the people he loves—or the lover of the person that he loves?  
  
They both nod, resigned, and then Gwaine is joking again, tossing back the rest of his pint. He buys them all a round and says he wants them to all come with him on a trip to the seaside. _Of course, mate,_ they all agree, _whatever you want,_ British stiff upper lips around the table.

~o~

  
It’s mid-summer when they finally get to the northern seaside town where they’ve rented a house for two weeks. All of Gwaine’s friends from uni come and fill the sprawling holiday home with their families: Lance and Gwen and the twins, Leon and Morgana and their son, Percy and his new girlfriend Elena, Elyan and his boyfriend Peter. Gwaine and Arthur take the only bedroom on the first floor to make it easier for Gwaine to get around, no longer caring that people know they’re sleeping together. Only Merlin is alone.  
  
Gwaine has begun to deteriorate. He gets dizzy, stumbles and loses his balance and blames it on the whiskey, which everyone knows he’s no longer allowed to drink. He has medication for the nausea and medication for the pain. He’s bloated from steroids and sometimes loses track of what he’s saying. Some days are worse than others.  
  
During the afternoon they freeze their arses off in the sea and play on the beach where Gwaine is often forced to rest, wrapped in a blanket though the air is warm and pleasant. He smiles and jokes, but sometimes Merlin catches him staring off into the distance like he’s trying to see what’s beyond the horizon. If Arthur or anyone else fusses over him, he gets irritated and tells them to fuck off.  
  
Sometimes it rains and they spend the days inside playing games and making giant feasts: steaming pots of stew, Elyan’s famous Yorkshire Puddings.  
  
The children want Merlin to do magic, and he indulges them with parlour tricks, Gwen’s girls climbing all over him to grasp at the little fireballs of light he produces in his palms, wanting Merlin to make a _Zebra! A Lion! A Shark!_ He does, creating tiny animals that cavort around the room and then disappear as puffs of smoke. Morgana’s son Mordred is older, pretends to be unimpressed, but still he trails after Merlin with a curious expression in his dark eyes. Even the adults enjoy it, but Merlin is aware of how inane it is: he can make dragons fly around the room but he can’t reach into Gwaine and fix his cancer.  
  
It’s odd, Merlin thinks, how little people acknowledge the disease, the fact that Gwaine is going to die and this is the last time they’ll all be together. Denial seems to be the name of the game. He runs around with the kids, more comfortable with them than his friends because at least they say what they feel.  
  
“Uncle Merlin?” Sabriel asks, clutching at his leg. He gazes down into her wide, chocolate brown eyes.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Will you carry me?”  
  
He chuckles, sweeps down and hoists her over his shoulder, and she squeals with delight. They’ve been on a walk through town, all of them apart from Gwaine, and the kids are tired.  
  
“Can you fly?” she asks once she is happily astride his neck, her pudgy arms wrapped around his head so he can barely see.  
  
“No, I can’t fly.”  
  
“Are there really angels?”  
  
Merlin doesn’t know how to answer the non sequitur. “I’m not sure.”  
  
“Mummy says that Uncle Gwaine is an angel. She says he’s sick and getting ready to go back to heaven, and that we’re all here to say goodbye.”  
  
A mist shades his eyes, and he’s glad she can’t see his face. Up ahead, her twin sister is receiving a similar ride on her dad’s shoulders. The two girls wave at each other, a playful gesture that almost makes things feel normal.  
  
“Your mummy is very smart.”  
  
“Is heaven far away?” she asks.  
  
“Yes,” Merlin says, patting her knee. “It’s very far.”  
  
“Can we visit Uncle Gwaine there?”  
  
“Not for a while. But someday.”  
  
This seems to appease Sab. She murmurs something and then starts chattering about her afternoon plan to catch crabs on the shore.  
  
Only then, when he feels a warm hand squeeze his shoulder, does he realise that Arthur is walking beside them.  
  
“You’re good with kids,” Arthur says later when they all stop for ice cream.  
  
Merlin feels his face heat as he licks his cone. “I guess.”  
  
They’re quiet for a moment, both trying to curtail the melting drips, courtesy of the hot sun. It would be better for Merlin to not watch Arthur, not watch the way his tongue darts and swirls the soft ice cream into his mouth. But he can’t; he looks. The wave of longing that sweeps through him erases his appetite. He tosses the rest of his cone into the bin.  
  


~o~

  
“It’s okay,” Gwaine says to Merlin one morning, “if you love him. It’s good.”  
  
“What?” Merlin is so startled he nearly chokes on his coffee. The two of them are seated on the veranda in the grey early morning light. Most of the others are still asleep—it was a late night, they’d all drunk too much. Of course Merlin has never been able to sleep off a hangover, and so his head pounds as he considers the ramifications of Gwaine’s statement.  
  
“I’ve got eyes, mate.” Gwaine chuckles. “I always wondered how long it would take the two of you to get your shite together. It’s taken . . . well, longer than I expected.”  
  
This seems like dangerous territory, so Merlin just scoffs dismissively. “Arthur doesn’t feel that way about me.”  
  
“If you believe that, you’re blind. He just doesn’t have the bollocks to do anything about it. And I suppose now he feels guilty.”  
  
“But—the two of you . . .”  
  
“I love him, yeah, but it’s never been like that for him. I know it.” There’s a wistful tone in Gwaine’s voice, and Merlin feels terrible that a small part of him is happy.  
  
Perhaps Gwaine is just delirious from the drugs he’s been taking. Merlin can’t quite figure out why they’re having this conversation; it’s not like he’s in a position to make a move on Arthur, for God’s sake. And the thought of something between them, something that could only happen after the worst possible thing . . .  
  
“He loves you,” Merlin insists.  
  
“In a way. But what we had was just casual, until, well this . . . we’d been seeing other people.”  
  
Merlin nods, wondering if Arthur had. “Oh.”  
  
“Arthur is very loyal.”  
  
“Yes, he is.” Merlin has seen first hand evidence of Arthur’s loyalty in his interactions with his family, his friends. He would never let Gwaine do this on his own. It only makes Merlin love him more.  
  
“Just let me have him for a little longer.”  
  
“Gwaine—” The word sticks in his throat. He sucks in a pained breath, wondering for a moment if Gwen was right and Gwaine really is an angel.  
  
Nothing more passes between them, then. The kids are awake, come barrelling down the stairs.  
  


~o~

  
Merlin pays more attention to Arthur now. He can’t help it, not after what Gwaine told him. Never before has he let himself wonder or hope: first, because he’d been certain Arthur wasn’t interested in him, and then there was Gwaine. Gwaine, who is dying with a dignity and humour that before now, Merlin had only seen in films.  
  
On the last night of the trip, they play spin the bottle like they’re teenagers again. Leon kisses Percy and the room howls with laughter at their bright red faces. Gwen’s spin lands on Gwaine and she asks her husband for permission, but he just smiles and pushes her across the circle where her lips meet Gwaine’s chastely to a chorus of “awwws.” On Merlin’s first go, the bottle lands on Morgana and he giggles, admitting that it’s his first time kissing a woman. Morgana bows afterward like she’s done the world a service.  
  
The night goes on and they get drunker, and finally Merlin has snogged everyone in the room but Arthur. He doesn’t know whether to be thankful or regretful; perhaps it’s some sign from the universe. Finally, though, the law of averages reigns supreme, and Merlin finds himself a foot away from Arthur, waiting for a kiss. Arthur regards Merlin with dark eyes as they get closer, but then something shifts and Merlin can’t go through with it. He stands, muttering apologies and some excuse about feeling ill and needing air and stumbles away from the group.  
  
Outside the night is cool and breezy. Merlin inhales deeply, trying to calm the beating of his heart. He couldn’t—he couldn’t kiss Arthur because then everyone would know, would see how he felt and that he was evil, bad, wrong, for coveting someone that wasn’t his. If only he hadn’t listened to Gwaine, he wouldn’t even be having these thoughts. He could have just played along.  
  
Eventually, he hears his friends going off to bed, decides to wait until they’re all safely in their rooms before following them.  
  
The house quiets, and he’s about to head inside when the sound of the door opening makes him freeze. It’s Arthur, hands in his pockets. He closes the door and approaches, his expression guarded.  
  
“Are you okay?”  
  
“Fine. Just a little too much wine.”  
  
Merlin knows he should just go to bed, but somehow he can’t bring his body to move. He leans forward and braces his arms against the railing, mirroring Arthur’s stance. Their shoulders brush.  
  
When Arthur speaks again, his voice is quiet, almost a whisper. “I’m glad we did this. It will be strange to be back home.”  
  
“Yeah.” Even more so because they’ve already decided that Arthur will move out of the flat he shares with Merlin and in with Gwaine, so that he’ll have someone to help him. No one wants to see Gwaine subjected to public care, least of all Merlin, who remembers what it was like for his father. But it hurts. Arthur claims the move is only temporary, has refused to let Merlin think about getting another flatmate and has insisted he’ll continue paying rent, despite Merlin’s protests. Somehow, that’s even worse, the prospect of Arthur’s room staying vacant.  
  
Merlin sighs, but it does nothing to alleviate the heaviness that’s crept into his chest. He shouldn’t have drunk so much.  
  
Arthur says, “Gwaine asked me to give you something.”  
  
“Oh?” Merlin isn’t really listening, too distracted by his emotions.  
  
“It’s something I’ve wanted to give you for a long time.”  
  
Arthur is facing him now, tugging his hands away from the railing so he is forced to look into Arthur’s eyes. They’re bright, even in the dark. Merlin’s breath hitches.  
  
Even with the intent on Arthur’s face, Merlin isn’t ready for the kiss, for the feel of Arthur’s lips on his. They’re soft, a bit chapped from the sun, and they mould against his perfectly. His mind blanks, and then he’s kissing back, gripping Arthur’s shoulders and nearly crying with the relief and ache of it. When they pull apart, both of them are panting for breath, and Merlin is more confused than ever.  
  
“I wish things were different,” Arthur says, rubbing Merlin’s arms even though it’s not that cold.  
  
“They are what they are.” Merlin can’t focus with Arthur’s hands on his bare skin, with how close they are. He steps out of Arthur’s radius to regain some sanity.  
  
“I should have done that ages ago.”  
  
Merlin laughs. “Why didn’t you?”  
  
“Because I’m an idiot.”  
  
“That, we can agree on.” Merlin feels a little lighter, even gives Arthur a playful shove.  
  
“I didn’t think you’d want me. You never showed any interest.”  
  
“That’s absurd.” But also probably true. Merlin sighs again, lets his eyes drift over Arthur’s face, his stupidly perfect jaw.  
  
“I’m hurt, Merlin,” Arthur teases. “You think I’m an absurd idiot.”  
  
Impulsively, Merlin hugs Arthur again. There’s nothing sexual about it, but Arthur clings to him like a drowning man, like he needs Merlin to support him. And Merlin vows that he will, no matter what.  
  
“I can’t ask you to wait for me.” Arthur’s voice is full of regret when they finally break apart.  
  
Merlin nods, but knows he will anyway. “You don’t have to ask.”


End file.
